From the Frying Pan into the Fridge
by Isa'sWritings
Summary: When Kurt is gone for a few days on a work-related trip, Blaine is home alone with their daughter. Everything is going fine, until one night, four men break into the house.


Long time no see. Sorry about the lack of new stories lately, but life (and work and trying to find another, better job) is getting in the way. I have so many ideas, but simply not enough time to write.

Anyway, here's a story I've been working on for a few months. It was inspired by an article I read in the newspaper that kind of shocked me. I don't want to spoil too much, so if you want to know more about what happened in reality, see the A/N at the end of the story.

**Disclaimer:** Of course I don't own Glee or any of its characters. If I did, I'd actually have time to write about Klaine because I'd be getting paid for it. Duh.

Enjoy! (And leave a review please ;) )

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><p><strong>From the Frying Pan into the Fridge.<strong>

Only fourteen hours and twenty-five minutes left. Not that he was counting.

Oh, who was he kidding, _of course_ he was counting. It was all he had been able to think about all day. Tomorrow, Kurt was coming back home.

Blaine knew he was acting silly. His husband hadn't even been gone that long, only three days away on a work-related trip to Paris. In the past, Kurt had frequently had to take these kinds of trips to all the important fashion capitals all over the world, for award shows and fashion shows and sometimes even photo shoots and the like.

But that had been before Amy. When their daughter was born two years ago, Kurt had told Isabelle to find someone else to accompany her on trips abroad from then on. He didn't mind as much when it was only for one night to another state but that's where he drew the line. Kurt felt their daughter deserved some stability in her life, especially when she was still so young. In addition, he didn't want to become one of those work-obsessed people who travelled all the time and missed out on their children's lives. So he and Isabelle had agreed that she could call on him for any fashion show or photo shoot that took place within the US, and that someone else would take over his duties abroad. Blaine knew Kurt didn't regret making this decision, but that didn't mean the latter didn't miss going to the City of Love. Blaine had assured him it would be okay to take up his previous duties abroad again, but Kurt had stuck to his guns.

Except this time. This time, his substitute had been involved in an accident two days before take-off. And since they didn't have enough time to find someone else to replace him who had as much knowledge of the line as Kurt had, Isabelle had asked him to come with her just this once out of necessity.

So, here Blaine was, sitting on the bathroom floor next to the bath in which Amy was having the time of her life playing with her favourite rubber ducks. The past two and a half days had been weird for the both of them, though less to him than to Amy. Blaine himself was sort of used to not seeing Kurt for a few days – although he would readily admit it was harder this time around than it had ever been in the past, his senior year at McKinley not included. But Amy had never been without both of her dads for more than a day and a night and kept asking Blaine about Kurt.

"Papa home?"

Blaine blinked, startled out of his musings, and turned his attention to his little girl, who was looking at him expectantly, one of the ducks bobbing up and down on the water.

"Tomorrow, ducky," he answered, brushing her wet hair out of her face. "Just one more night and then we can go pick papa up."

"Where panes are."

"That's right, from the airport, where the planes are."

Amy beamed, happy with his answer. After another ten minutes, Blaine washed and rinsed her hair, before getting her out of the now lukewarm water and drying her off. As he turned away to grab her pyjamas, she escaped the large towel her father had wrapped around her and ran out of the room into her parents' bedroom, squealing in delight when Blaine started chasing her.

"Amy?" he called, drawing her name out playfully. "Where are you?"

He theatrically looked around their bedroom, acting as though he couldn't see her hiding behind the bedside table on Kurt's side. An adorable and very loud giggle sounded through the room, leaving absolutely no doubt as to where the toddler was. Amy didn't seem to realise that, however, and just stayed put, only jumping up once Blaine had come close enough.

"Boo!"

Blaine gasped in fake surprise.

"There you are! You scared me!"

Amy laughed uncontrollably and made to run off again, but Blaine quickly grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

"I don't think so," he said, carrying her into her own bedroom. "It's bedtime for you, my dear, and need I remind you that you're still stark naked? You know, that's really not becoming for a lady like you."

Amy kept giggling and squirming in his arms, only calming down when he set her down and started helping her into her nightie.

"OK, go pick out a story."

As she searched for her book – _The Ugly Duckling_ again, the same story they had been reading to her for the past two weeks and that she just couldn't seem to get enough of –, Blaine lowered the bars of her bed and then sat down in the armchair standing in the corner of the room. It didn't take too long for Amy to climb onto his lap, settling back with Margaret Thatcher dog clutched tightly in her arms. Blaine gently removed the thumb she had sneaked into her mouth – he and Kurt had decided they had to try to rid her of that habit as quickly as possible – and started reading the story to her, keeping his free hand on her arm. By the time he was done, Amy was on the verge of drifting off to sleep. He put the book to the side and carefully stood up with the girl in his arms, laying her in her bed and kissing her forehead.

"Night night, ducky."

"Night night, daddy," she answered sleepily.

Blaine smiled, raised the bars of the bed to keep her from falling or climbing out, and quietly left the room. After cleaning up the bathroom and drying off her toys, he made his way downstairs to enjoy a peaceful night in, carefully closing the baby gates behind him, just in case.

Around ten o'clock, his phone chimed.

_Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow! Love you! Xxx – K_

A soft smile spread over Blaine's face as he read his husband's text.

_Can't wait._ _Love you too! Xxx – B, _he answered, suppressing a huge yawn.

After that, he turned off the television and went around the house to check whether all the doors and windows were locked before going to bed himself. It wasn't that late yet, but he was absolutely exhausted from being on Amy-duty for three days. In addition, he figured he wouldn't have to wait for the next day as long if he went to bed early. With his thoughts lingering on Kurt's return, Blaine fell asleep quickly, a slight smile forming on his face as he dreamt of his husband.

What seemed like a minute later, he was violently woken up when he felt something flipping him onto his back. His eyes flew open and he raised his arms, instinctively trying to defend himself. Fear flooded his system as he took in the dark figures standing next to his bed. Even though it was dark in the room, he could see enough to notice that there seemed to be four of them and that they were all dressed completely in dark clothes, up to their heads.

Before he could get over his shock and gain the presence of mind to react, two of them came forward and grabbed his arms and legs, one even sitting on him to hold him down. The weight on his chest was so heavy that he had difficulty breathing properly, not to mention shouting for help. And even if he had been in any state to yell, he knew it would be useless; no one would be able to hear anyway. The only other person around was Amy, and she was the last person he wanted to hear him. He couldn't risk waking her up lest she start crying and thus unknowingly draw attention to herself.

"Tie him up," a low voice ordered. Although he was almost entirely immobilised, Blaine started struggling against his captors even more until one of them hit him in the face, effectively stopping his frantic efforts. At once, the person perched on his chest – Blaine could only assume it was a man based on their size and strength – started tying Blaine's hands together using a coarse piece of rope the fourth person handed him.

As much as he wanted to keep fighting, Blaine forced himself to stay still. For one thing, he would never be able to throw off the guys holding him down. And for another, it was still four against one, which meant that he wouldn't stand a chance against them even if he could get himself free. No, he decided, it was better to save his strength and bide his time in case a better opportunity to get away presented itself. So he kept still. He let them bind his hands, only tugging on his bonds experimentally once they were done. The rope dug harshly into his skin and he quickly realised it was tied tightly enough to prevent him from freeing himself easily.

As the gorilla on his chest stood up, finally allowing the young father to fill his lungs again, the one Blaine had designated as the leader of the group motioned with his head, prompting the others to drag Blaine off the bed and throw him on the floor on his knees.

"W-who are you?" the latter managed, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "What do you want?"

"Money," the same person who had spoken before answered. "And you are going to tell us where it is."

When Blaine didn't immediately reply – not because he didn't want to tell them, but because he was too petrified to speak –, the gorilla that had tied him up came to stand directly in front of him, towering over Blaine and forcing him to look up at him. The malicious grin he shot at Blaine spoke volumes about how much he enjoyed the look of terror on his victim's face. Still Blaine wasn't able to find his voice, which earned him another hard blow, to his head this time. The gorilla punched him again, knocking him backwards onto the ground. When he felt what he suspected was blood running from his nose, he rolled onto his side to keep himself from choking on it, after which he was viciously kicked in the chest a few times. Even after all this time, he was harshly reminded of his freshman year of high school and the school dance that had eventually brought about his transfer to Dalton.

"Please... stop...," he croaked. "I'll tell you where it is. … Please, just stop."

The leader let out a barking laugh.

"Yes, you will. Unless you'd like your child to join this party..."

"No! Please, leave her out of this."

Blaine racked his brains, wondering what he could say that might satisfy them. Truth was, he and Kurt didn't even keep that much money at home. They weren't especially rich or didn't live in an obnoxiously large house; together they earned enough to live comfortably even while raising a child. And just like most people, they kept their savings on a joint account in the bank. They had some money at home – in case of emergencies – but not nearly enough to justify a violent robbery.

"It's in the living room. In a drawer."

At once, Blaine was jerked to his feet with a pained groan and marched into the hallway and down the stairs. The burglars dragged him straight to the living room, suggesting they had been in the house long enough to know its general layout. Blaine pointed out the dresser the money was in. He was hoping this whole thing would be over more quickly if he cooperated with them. Not to mention the fact that he was less likely to get killed that way.

"It's in a box," he said quietly, "in the second drawer to the left."

Blaine could only watch helplessly as the thugs set about clearing out all of the drawers in the dresser, throwing everything on the ground that didn't look like a box or that didn't contain the money they had been promised. They did find the right box eventually, but continued wrecking the room anyway, for good measure. When they were finally satisfied with their loot – though Blaine couldn't understand why they didn't go for the more valuable items in the room, like the television, but chose instead to walk away with a handful of money –, the man holding him in place spoke up.

"What do we do with him?"

The others turned to them. Apparently, that was one part of the plan they hadn't thought entirely through. They had to realise that Blaine would call the police as soon as they had set foot out the door. Blaine himself knew that they probably wouldn't believe a word he said, even if he swore not to warn the police. But he could try anyway.

"Please, I won't call the police. I promise. Just leave. I won't tell anyone."

The leader took an agonizingly long time to contemplate the problem. Blaine started trembling slightly, terrified of what he might decide. After all, his well-being and his life depended on that one decision. They could kill him to make sure there were no witnesses and Blaine wouldn't be able to do anything to prevent it. The young father swallowed heavily, suddenly feeling nauseous. If that happened, Kurt would come home in the morning to find his dead body lying in the middle of the living room. At least Amy wouldn't have to see it, he comforted himself, thanking his lucky stars that she couldn't get out of bed on her own yet.

No, he said to himself sternly, it didn't have to end that way. Maybe these guys didn't want his murder on their conscience.

"Lock him up in the basement," the leader said eventually, his tone leaving no room for argument.

All rational thought flew out of the window when Blaine heard that. Panic struck him like a wave and he bucked against his captors while they hauled him down into the cellar, nearly making them all lose their precarious balance on the narrow stairs. For some reason, being locked up was much scarier than anything else they could've decided to do with him. What if Kurt's flight was delayed or cancelled altogether? What if he couldn't get home until a few days later? Blaine would be stuck in the basement, either starving or freezing to death if he couldn't find a way to get out. And Amy would most likely starve as well before anyone came to check up on them. Because why would they? If Kurt wasn't there to notice their absence, no one would.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the men shoved Blaine down on the ground, stunning him momentarily. By the time he was able to think clearly again, the men were gone. He could hear the clicking of a lock and footsteps heading towards the back door a few moments later. Then, everything became quiet again.

Blaine stayed where he was for a while, not moving. In those first moments of peace since his violent awakening, the events of the night finally caught up with him. He hadn't really been aware of it before – perhaps because of the adrenaline running through his body and his fear overshadowing everything else –, but now he could feel his head pounding relentlessly from the many hits to his head. His nose seemed to have stopped bleeding, but he could feel it swelling up and he could hardly breathe through the congealed blood both in and under his nose. In his mouth, he could recognise the coppery taste of blood that had managed to find its way through his lips. His chest hurt too, but he didn't think any of his ribs were broken. After all, he had had broken ribs before and he knew what it felt like.

He gingerly turned onto his back, hissing when all of his aches made themselves known with a vengeance. For a few minutes, he lay completely still again, waiting for the black spots in front of his eyes to go away and the creatures hollowing out his skull to stop drilling a hole into his brains. When he was ready to move again, he decided he should focus on getting loose first. It was only then that he realised that, at some point, his legs had been tied together as well. Wriggling his feet, he found the rope wasn't as tight as the one on his wrists, which would make it easier to get it off. On the downside, he would have to sit up to be able to reach his feet.

He groaned, in frustration rather than pain this time, closing his eyes and mentally preparing himself for the seemingly impossible task. It went better than he had been expecting. Sure, he felt dizzy and had to take deep breaths into his knees right after sitting up until the feeling abated, but once the worst had passed, it all became slightly more bearable again. As predicted, it was easy to get rid of the rope around his ankles, allowing him to get into a more comfortable position.

He looked around the room, searching for something that could help him with his wrists. All in all, their cellar was fairly small, but that had never been a problem before. They usually only used it to do laundry. So aside from the currently useless washing machine and dryer standing against one of the walls and taking up most of the space, they didn't keep all that much in the basement. There was a lawn mower to his right, which didn't fit in the garage where they stashed most of the stuff they didn't need on a daily basis. The machine wasn't ideal for rope-cutting, but it might serve the purpose if he couldn't find anything else.

Suddenly he spotted the only window the basement had, right above the lawn mower. It was rather narrow, but if he could reach it somehow, he might be able to get out through there. If he could fit, that is. Ignoring the window for now, Blaine decided he could check that out once he had full use of all of his limbs again.

He craned his neck, looking behind him, to see if there was anything else he had overlooked. His gaze fell on a cupboard stacked with flowerpots of all sizes and heights that he only now remembered was also in the cellar. He had forgotten they had bought the cupboard especially for putting away all of the flowerpots they had accumulated over the years but that they hadn't wanted to get rid of in case they needed one some day. And today was that day.

Not wanting to get to his feet when he couldn't properly use his hands to keep himself steady – and not at all trusting his balance at the moment –, Blaine inched towards the cupboard along the ground, reached up to grab a random flowerpot and let it hit the ground hard enough to break it. Once he was free, he pulled himself up, leaning against the cupboard until he could stand up straight without fear of falling over, and slowly started making his way to the window. His head was still killing him, but he had to focus on getting out of the basement. He could take some painkillers once he had accomplished that.

The window was a disappointment. As soon as he came to that conclusion, he realised he had already been expecting that subconsciously. Its only purpose was to provide some ventilation and it was far too narrow for anyone to get through, even a small child. The only other possible way out that remained was the door, which was locked from the outside.

Blaine climbed up the stairs slowly, wincing as his bruised body protested the movement. When he reached the door at the top, he tried the handle, thus proving what he had already known to be true. He was locked in. He couldn't get out, not unless he could break down the door by force. Which wasn't such a bad idea. It was worth a try at the very least.

"Let's do this," he muttered to himself before slamming his shoulder into the door several times. To no avail, though. Standing on the small step, he'd never be able to put enough force into his efforts to achieve his goal. Not to mention the fact that his head wasn't going to put up with his actions any longer. After only a few tries, Blaine had to admit defeat lest he pass out. He sat down heavily against the door, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands, and hoped the world would stop spinning soon. It seemed like hours before the intense pounding in his head faded to a slightly more bearable throbbing. Finally, he felt he could lift his head again without fainting.

The young father had no idea what time it was, but it had to be the middle of the night. There was no light in the room, not even a small sliver of moonlight to chase away a little bit of the darkness. His eyes had already adjusted to the pitch darkness, but still he could discern very little from where he sat, aside from some vague outlines. And, of course, the light switch was next to the door on the outside, as if this whole situation wasn't difficult enough already without having to sit in the dark.

While some part of him told him it was useless anyway – the rational part that said there _really_ wasn't anything down there that could help him –, his inherent optimism – or was it false hope? – insisted there had to be a way to get out of there.

He mentally ran through his options. If he could get out on his own, he'd already have done so. Perhaps he could try to warn someone and have them open the door or call the police. The problem was, however, that his phone was lying on his bedside table. If the thieves hadn't taken it, that is. Then again, he could open the little window and shout in an attempt to catch someone's attention, but that wouldn't work until someone was actually awake to hear him. And truth be told, he really didn't feel up for that much activity just yet. So no matter what, he'd have to wait at least until dawn to try that. In any case, he'd have the advantage of light then.

A shiver broke him out of his thoughts abruptly, making him aware him of another problem he hadn't considered before. He was sitting in the basement in the middle of the night at the beginning of April, wearing nothing but his underwear. While the temperatures during the day were becoming quite pleasant, the nights were a whole different matter. Plus, notwithstanding the season, it was always colder in the basement than it was in the rest of the house or even outside. So he might as well be sitting in a fridge for all the shivering his body was doing. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, rubbing them in an attempt to get rid of the goosebumps, and curled into as small a ball as possible. The uncontrolled movements combined with his own efforts to stop his trembling – which didn't have any effect no matter how hard he clenched his jaw and willed his body to stay still – only aggravated the pain in his head. For the first time in his life, he found himself cursing the fact that he'd finished all of the laundry the day before. If he hadn't, there might have been something in the dryer he could've used to cover himself. As it was, he had no choice but to bear the cold.

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><p>The dark wasn't quiet.<p>

Some time had passed since he'd been hauled into the basement. It seemed like hours, but Blaine knew it probably hadn't been as long as his current sense of time was making him believe. The one constant throughout, however, was the almost continuous stream of random sounds his ears picked up, as if the world was conspiring against him having a moment of peace. While the seconds dragged, Blaine could feel his eyelids getting heavier. But each time he closed his eyes, something would alarm him back to awareness, making him think that someone was sneaking up on him, as crazy as it sounded. One time it was a creaking noise coming from the closet, as if it sighed beneath its burden. Another, it was the metallic clanking of the pipes that disappeared through the ceiling. Then there were so many other sounds he couldn't identify, but that sent his mind spiralling.

Blaine put his hands over his ears, trying to block the sounds, and clenched his eyes shut, like a child that was afraid of the dark. In an attempt to distract himself, he thought about Kurt, picturing him, his eyes, his smile, the way he always strove to look impeccable. Except on Sunday morning, when it was just the three of them with nowhere to go and no one to see; when it didn't matter whether or not he looked perfect because Blaine had already seen him at his best _and_ his worst and loved him either way. They would take Amy to the playground, play with her in the sandpit for an hour or so, until she grew tired. They would take the long way home, enjoying the weather, smiling adoringly as they spotted Amy falling asleep in her stroller. If it rained, or Amy was particularly fussy, they would stay at home and get out the Play-doh or have a Disney sing-and-dance-off, or just spend a calm afternoon watching cartoons with Amy, one eye on her and the other on their own activities – be it drawing designs or writing.

When they were younger, before Amy had come into their lives, he and Kurt would sometimes go on excursions for a weekend, spending the night at some local hotel or motel, depending on where they went. Then there were times they had shamelessly wasted the entire day in bed. When they had still been in college, they studied together or Blaine played the piano while Kurt spent hours perfecting his designs. Once he was finally happy with his creations, he stood up, looked at his work from a distance for a few minutes and made some tiny little adjustments, before walking up to the piano. He laid his hand on the back of Blaine's neck and joined him on the bench, turning the page when necessary. Every once in a while, he tried to make Blaine lose his concentration by placing gentle kisses on his cheek, his shoulder, even in his neck if he could reach it, eliciting a delighted laugh from his husband. While Blaine continued playing, he turned his head to be rewarded with a proper kiss.

Somehow, they ended up on the sofa, Blaine with his head on Kurt's chest and the latter's arms keeping him securely in place, keeping him warm. Except that it wasn't warm. Kurt was having fun blowing cold air over his arms in one extremely long exhale, causing goosebumps to appear. Blaine wanted to ask him to stop, tell him that he was getting cold, but his mouth seemed frozen and his tongue felt very heavy. He also couldn't feel Kurt's softness underneath him any longer. All he could feel were the ice-cold hands roaming all over his back and a cold, hard pain in his behind and several other parts of his body. Through it all, there was a sound – one he knew was important, one he shouldn't ignore –, but he couldn't quite place it.

It was only several confusing minutes after he had opened his eyes, that he realised he had been sleeping. For quite a while even. It seemed dawn had broken since the last time he had been awake. During the night, the cold had only gotten worse, making his limbs stiff. He licked his dry lips, realising that the foul taste in his mouth was from his own blood, making his tongue stick to the roof from thirst.

But that wasn't what had woken him up. The sound that had seeped into his dream came from upstairs, from Amy, who apparently had woken up and was now calling for her daddy. Her voice was rising gradually, getting more shrill the longer she called out, the way it did when her daddies took too long to come get her. Sometimes, Kurt and Blaine would wait awhile, hoping their daughter would go back to sleep. Eight out of ten times she did; but some days she would keep going, tirelessly, nearly throwing a tantrum in the limited space she had, until one of them would roll out of bed, shuffle down the hall to her room and carry her back to their own, where they would all cuddle up to each other for a while. Amy would lay quietly between them and pretend to be asleep. Eventually she would grow bored and start squirming and climbing on and over them.

Today, however, she'd be sorely disappointed. As the screaming grew stronger and turned into shrieking, Blaine started silently begging her to go back to sleep, so that they could both have some peace of mind. The only consolation he had right now was that the child couldn't get out of bed on her own yet, meaning she couldn't get hurt or fall down the stairs or anything. Or so Blaine hoped.

During one moment of weakness, the young father found himself wishing Kurt had been at home that night. Even if his husband had been in the same predicament he was currently in, at least not being alone would have made it all slightly better. Almost immediately after the thought had entered his mind, Blaine dismissed it, feeling guilty for even considering something like that. He didn't want Kurt to get hurt, ever. So, on second thought, he was grateful for the accident that had brought Kurt to Paris this particular weekend.

Eventually, it became quiet again. In his mind, Blaine knew now would be a good time to try to call out for help. But as much as he tried, he just couldn't get his body to obey his mind's orders, as if it were on strike. Apart from being stiff, he barely felt the cold anymore and the pain in his body had faded to a dull throbbing. The headache from before hadn't let up much, though, making him nauseous.

He managed to doze off again after a while, startling awake several times, but always getting pulled under again. He fully came around, though, when Amy started crying again. Blaine laid his still aching head against the door, cringing at the distressed sounds coming from upstairs, wishing he could go comfort his daughter instead of uselessly sitting there.

"Shit," he muttered, knocking his head against the door again and pulling at his hair in his frustration. "Ssh, Amy, don't cry. It's okay, baby, it's going to be okay."

He kept whispering reassurances for a while, pretending Amy was in the room with him. After some time, when the toddler's crying didn't let up, he switched to singing songs, softly so as not to drown her out entirely. Because as much as it pained him to hear her crying, it was also a small consolation that she was still fairly alright; or at the very least alive. Even though he knew well enough that Amy couldn't hear him, he pressed on anyway, for the most part to comfort himself. He continued humming long after she had gone quiet again, waiting helplessly for someone to find them, willing his despair to stay at bay.

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><p>Kurt was officially pissed off. Not because he had had to get up in the middle of the night in order to wait for almost four hours in an airport, to catch a plane that finally took off at nine a.m., two hours later than originally scheduled. Not because he had subsequently spent eight hours on a plane, next to a young couple with a whiny child that prevented him from getting any sleep. Not because he suffered from jet lag when, after those eight excruciating hours, he had realised it was only eleven o'clock in the morning instead of five p.m. as his inner clock was telling him.<p>

No, the reason for his anger was his husband, who had promised to pick him up from the airport and had even taken a day off for that very purpose, but who, for some reason, wasn't there even though Kurt was two hours later than expected, giving him ample time to get there on time. And he was even more disgruntled when he had to take a cab after waiting for his husband for over an hour and getting absolutely no answer from said individual, not even when he called him several times. To top it all off, his cab got stuck in traffic because of a huge accident, involving a truck and two cars, that blocked all but one lane.

Part of him told him that there could be plenty of reasons why Blaine hadn't been there. But after the plane ride from hell, he had very little patience left to reflect on what those might be. And even if he had a good excuse, Blaine could at least have called him or sent him a text to let him know he wouldn't make it to the airport.

Until another possibility entered his mind, turning his anger into worry in a matter of seconds. What if something had happened? What if Blaine _couldn't_ come and pick him up and _couldn't_ text or call him, because he physically wasn't able to or even no longer alive to do so? He was there in that big house all alone, with Amy as his only company and she couldn't exactly help if something happened to Blaine. No, Kurt said to himself, he was his husband's emergency contact, they would've called him if Blaine had gotten hurt or worse. Then again, perhaps no one had noticed anything was wrong yet...

"Excuse me?" He tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Is there any other route you can take? I really need to get home quickly."

The driver shook his head, clearly annoyed with the question.

"Sorry, sir, I'm afraid we're stuck. Every other route goes over that lane," he pointed out, shrugging. "You can always take the subway, that might get you home more quickly."

He made the suggestion as if he didn't expect Kurt to really take him up on it – like so many other customers who got in a cab, complained that it didn't go fast enough, but refused to take the subway because that was beneath them –, a look of surprise appearing when Kurt shoved some money into his hand.

"Good idea."

Kurt got out of the cab, heaved his suitcase out of the trunk and made his way through the stationary cars to the nearest entrance of the subway. At last he had some luck; within fifteen minutes a train homewards rolled into the station. When he arrived home, everything seemed normal. The house looked exactly the same as it had three days ago, ruling out a house fire or any kind of explosion. He fumbled with his keys as he attempted to open the front door – his nerves on edge –, even dropping them several times. He took a calming breath and tried to keep his hand steady as he shoved the right key in the lock and opened the door.

The first thing that struck him was the utter silence in the house, the kind of silence you might hear in houses that no one lived in.

"Blaine?" He called out. "Amy?"

The only answer he got came from a clock somewhere to his right – probably the one from the kitchen, he thought distractedly. He left his suitcase and his carry-on by the door and nervously walked into the living room. What he saw there stopped him right in his tracks.

Several drawers were upturned, papers and other things they kept in them strewn all over the floor. Quickly scanning the rest of the room, he saw the television still in its spot, just like their radio/cd-player and other things he considered valuable. Whoever had done this, had obviously been looking for something specific. He could figure out what they had wanted later on, though; first he had to find Blaine and Amy and make sure they were alright.

"Blaine?" he shouted again, more urgently, hoping to get an answer this time, preparing to search the rest of the house. "Blaine?"

He turned around, starting to head towards the stairs. If Blaine wasn't in the kitchen or living room, he had to be upstairs.

Something stopped him in his tracks. Something out of the ordinary, something that stood out even though he didn't know what it was yet.

The key. Suddenly he realised the key to the basement was on the door instead of hanging in its usual place on the wall. With a sudden feeling of dread settling in his stomach, he approached the door, his hand shaking as he reached out to unlock it. A shock ran through him as he opened the door, screaming when his husband fell backwards against his legs.

"Blaine!"

Concern filled him as he took in his husband's condition: the dried blood clinging to his nose and lips, the abnormal paleness of his face underneath the blood and bruises, the lack of clothes aside from the boxers and vest he usually slept in, and more bruising on his arms and legs.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Kurt babbled as he crouched down to hold Blaine up. "You're cold as ice."

When he felt how cold his husband's skin was, he quickly took off his jacket and draped it around his shoulders. Looking more closely, he noticed how Blaine's lips had turned blue, just like his hands and even his feet, making him wonder how long Blaine had been locked in the cold basement. His eyes were closed. There was no sign that he had even noticed he'd been shifted, which Kurt knew wasn't good. He called Blaine's name over and over, hoping he could wake him up. He only stopped trying when he realised who was missing.

Amy.

* * *

><p>Something was wrong.<p>

That was the only thing Blaine really knew when he woke up. It wasn't just the fact that he found himself in what looked like a hospital room. There was something else he should be remembering.

He felt slightly cold, the kind of cold that resided deep in his bones, as if he'd been walking outside in snow for too long. There was a dull pain in his head and in the rest of his body. When he looked down, he noticed the IV connected to one of his arms, from which something warm entered his veins. He suspected that whatever he was being dosed with was also responsible for keeping him from being in a lot more pain. There was a blanket draped over most of his body, and bandages covered both of his wrists, hiding the abrasions underneath. What he could see, however, were the bruises. Instantly, he remembered the fear, the men, the beating, the cold, the darkness. And Amy.

Where was Amy?

Blaine tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. From his reclined position, he looked around the room. Aside from the standard furniture and medical equipment making all kinds of noises, it was completely empty. No Kurt or Amy in sight.

Somewhere near his head, a beeping was gradually accelerating. He ignored it. He needed to know where Amy was, if someone had found her, if she was alright. After a while, the door opened and a nurse entered in alarm.

"Mr Anderson, you're awake."

She smiled at him and began checking the machines around him, frowning when she looked at his heart monitor. Blaine opened his mouth, but all he could get out was a hoarse croak.

"Easy," the nurse tried to soothe him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, "you've been through a lot."

Blaine cleared his throat and tried again.

"Amy... where's Amy?"

The nurse sent him another reassuring smile, understanding what had his heart beating so fast.

"She's fine. She's downstairs in the cafeteria with your husband, getting something to eat."

"She's okay?"

His voice was audibly shaking, but he didn't care. He needed to know Amy was alright.

"Yes, she's completely fine. Whatever happened, she wasn't hurt at all. Your husband said he found her hiding in her bed."

"Thank god."

Now that he had confirmation that Amy was safe, Blaine could relax again. He let himself sink into the pillow, closing his eyes in relief. By the time Kurt returned to the room with Amy, his husband was peacefully sleeping again.

**The end.**

* * *

><p>So, what happened in reality: some guy was home alone with his three-year-old daughter when four men broke in, pulled the guy from his bed and started beating him up before taking off without about 800 euros (which is about 1000 dollars, I think), the guy's smartphone and his laptop. They also left him tied up in his basement before leaving. In contrary to my story, the guy managed to get himself free in a few minutes, called the cops. His daughter had been left alone; she slept through the whole thing (like Amy here). As far as I know, they haven't found the guys that did it. The reason it shocked me so much is not because of the violence etc (which is bad enough already), but because what they took was such a small amount. Divided by four, it's only around 200 euros per person, which is really not much. It certainly doesn't warrant that much violence. Not that I condone violence (or stealing), of course, don't get me wrong. I just mean that they could've stolen the money without beating the guy up. Guess we should be glad they at least left the kid alone.<p>

Then, of course, after I read it, my blangst-ruined mind immediately started wondering how I could turn this into blangst. At first, I wanted to make it about Blaine and his father, but then I quickly decided there would be much more blangst if Blaine was the father in the story.

I have some of the aftermath written out, but after I changed the ending, I realised it didn't really fit in the story anymore. If you guys are interested, I might post it later on as a one-shot accompanying this story. But that might take a while, considering I'm currently working on another story (two actually) and considering how little time I seem to be having lately.

Let me know what you think!


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